Chicken Soup
by SabaceanBabe
Summary: John Crichton sneezed for the umpteenth time, an explosion of mucus and assorted germs that shouldn’t be affecting him at all...


**Chicken Soup**

Author: SabaceanBabe

Rating: PG-13 for language

Word count: 720

Author's notes and Disclaimer: Set somewhere around Terra Firma and Bringing Home the Beacon. Written directly to my LJ, no beta, all mistakes mine, yadda yadda, Farscape doesn't belong to me, more's the pity, no harm intended, etc, etc. :P

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John Crichton sneezed for the umpteenth time, an explosion of mucus and assorted germs that shouldn't be affecting him at all, but, dammit, were. His head felt like it was the size of either Texas or Rygel's ego; his eyes didn't want to open; his throat felt like the day after a college football game. In other words, he was a mess.

"Aren't the damn translator microbes supposed to protect against disease?" he whined, the irritating tone of his own voice making him wince. He hunched into the blanket Pip had earlier draped around his shoulders, pulled it up over his head.

"Oh, for frell's sake, how many times are you going to ask that?" Aeryn sounded like she was about at the end of her rope and John didn't blame her. In fact, all things considered, he wasn't sure why she was hanging with him right now, anyway. It wasn't like he was anything approaching pleasant company--

Noranti, busily mixing one of her odd concoctions in a large bowl, chimed in, "They _do_ protect us against disease, John." She drew a quick finger through the orange paste, then sucked it off. "Hmm. Needs more pral." Reaching for a small container, she continued, "It's simply that some of your Erp viruses have shifting antigens and your microbes haven't yet adapted."

Another vicious sneeze tore through him. Not only hadn't the fucking microbes protected him from getting a cold, they seemed to be making the cold stronger. "I'd kill for a bowl of chicken soup. My gramma's chicken soup could cure anything."

"Crichton, why don't you just go back to bed?" D'Argo was obviously trying to maintain a calm and cool demeanor, but John could hear the suppressed rage underneath. Okay, maybe rage wasn't the right word, maybe it was more exasperation.

"I don't wanna go back to my room, Dad, it's colder in there than it is in here." Totally stuffed up now, John blew his nose. It sounded a helluva lot louder to his ears than it should have. He studied the resulting mess in the handkerchief -- how could a guy lose that much snot and still have so much more stuffed into his skull?

"Oh, for the love of--" Aeryn slammed down her polishing cloth and reholstered her pistol.

"What?" John whined again.

She ignored him. "Noranti, will you come with me, please?" It was couched as a request, but was clearly a command.

"Certainly, dear. What do you need?"

The two of them walked -- well, Aeryn stalked -- to the other side of the room, past stove and fridge, and John lost interest. His itchy eyes wandered over to where D'Argo and Pip played some sort of card game. They were the only others in the room. Who the hell knew where his Eminence was and he supposed Sputnik was visiting with Scorpy in his cell. A shudder rattled through his body and he couldn't be sure if it was a chill from his fever or the thought of Sikozu and Scorpius doing... well, _anything_ together. Some mental images just didn't need to exist...

John didn't know how much time had passed when he woke to Aeryn's voice, more gentle than he'd heard it in what seemed like forever, and the cool touch of her hand on his hot cheek. "John, wake up. You don't want your zoop to get cold."

"Huh?" he asked with fever-ridden eloquence.

"Noranti made you some cheeken zoop." She held out a steaming bowl, offering it and a spoon to him. There were things floating in the cloudy golden liquid and it finally penetrated his stuffy brain that it smelled, of all things, like chicken soup and that the floaters were what looked to be carrots, potatoes, noodles, and... chicken. Big chunks of chicken.

"Holy shit." He looked with wonder at Aeryn. "How did...?"

She gifted him with the hint of a smile. "You said that gramma's cheeken zoop would cure anything." She shrugged. "So I asked Gramma to make you some with what she brought back from Earth."

John opened his mouth to thank her, but the words he wanted to say -- _I love you_ -- just wouldn't come out.

Aeryn shoved the spoon and bowl into his hand impatiently. "Eat." Then she turned and walked away.


End file.
